Everyone Underestimate Liam Cross

2: Shattered-hearted

LIAM CROSS.

“I didn’t wet myself, Mrs. Davenport… water f-f-” The words stumbled out of my lips, trembling, and desperate. But before I could finish, her hand struck across my face, the sound sounding through the room. The slap burned, searing my cheek.

“Very useless,” she hissed, her voice shaking with fury. “You can’t even lift yourself, let alone this family. What’s next? Are you going to poop on yourself too?”

“I said I didn’t wet myself,” I tried again, my voice breaking... but another slap silenced me, harder this time. My head snapped to the side, the sting spreading down my neck.

“Are you calling me a liar?” she snarled, her eyes daring me to repeat myself. “What’s left in you, really? I’ve seen abandoned dogs with more dignity than this.”

I swallowed hard, the metallic taste of blood brushing my tongue. My eyes watered, not from pain but humiliation.

She took a step back, looking me over like something she’d scrape off her shoe. “Now stand up,” she ordered coldly, pointing to the spilled water at my feet. “And clean this mess. It’s the least you can do while still pretending to be a man.”

Then she turned sharply, muttering something under her breath, something that sounded hateful I couldn’t quite catch, though I already knew what it meant.

Her heels clicked away, each step a reminder of how small she’d made me feel. The door slammed behind her, and silence filled the room again.

What kind of humiliation have I not faced as the crippled son-in-law of the Davenports? Every day felt like a new way to remind me I didn’t belong here. I’d become the household embarrassment, the man everyone pitied, and mocked.

But it wasn’t just them, the world joined in too. The same people who once cheered my name, who called me a rising star, now laughed when they saw me limp down the street.

My name used to echo in stadiums; now it’s a joke told at bars. They forgot the medals, the sweat, the pain... they forgot I ever flew before I fell. Now, they only see what’s left of me. And sometimes, when I catch my reflection, I wonder if they’re right. Maybe this broken, unwanted version of me is all that’s left.

I managed to clean the water as best as I could, my knees trembling under my own weight. Each motion sent a dull ache shooting up my legs, but I pushed through it, just wanting the moment to end. When the last drop was gone, I rose slowly and limped back to my room.

I hadn’t shared a room with my wife since the injury, since the day everything fell apart. At first, she’d said it was temporary, that I needed rest, space to heal. But that lie faded fast. Soon it became about my noisy breathing, saying I snored like a horse. And also, that I made the room smell like pain.

The complaints piled up until she finally suggested... no, and insisted we sleep apart.

I hated it, every second of it, but I agreed. I told myself it was for her comfort, to avoid arguments, to keep what little peace still existed. But deep down, I knew what it really meant. The distance wasn’t just between our rooms, it was between our hearts. And every night, when I heard her laughter faintly from the other side of the wall, it reminded me how far away she’d already gone.

Today should’ve been like every other Wednesday used to be... the day I sent her flowers at work. It had been our little tradition, something that spoke when words couldn’t.

Every week without fail, I’d send her favorite lilies with a short, simple note full of love. It was my way of saying, I’m still thinking of you, even when we were miles apart.

But after the accident, that stopped. It’s been a year since I last sent them. A year since I felt like the man who could make her smile. My condition made everything harder... money, and movement. I told myself she wouldn’t care about the flowers anymore, that maybe she’d moved past small gestures like that.

Still, something in me refused to let the memory die. So this morning, I made the call. Arranged for the flowers to be delivered just like before. Maybe when she sees them on her desk, it’ll stir something in her heart. A reminder of who we once were.

I checked the wall clock again... the minute hand dragging slowly past the hour. She should’ve been back by now. My heart picked up a little when I finally heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway downstairs. The familiar hum of the engine was enough to make me sit up straighter, she was home.

I stayed still, waiting. Any minute now, she’d come up the stairs, knock on my door, maybe even smile and tell me she got the flowers, that it reminded her of old times. I could almost picture her holding them.

Minutes stretched slowly, but the knock never came. I stared at the door, hoping, then finally pushed myself up. My legs protested with every movement as I limped toward the hallway, steadying myself against the wall.

Her door was slightly open, light spilling out into the dim corridor. I hesitated, my palm pressed flat against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Should I knock? Walk in? I didn’t know what kind of reaction waited for me on the other side... gratitude, indifference, or maybe that same tone she’d used too often lately.

Still, something in me needed to see her face, to know if the flowers meant anything at all. I reached for the door, my fingers trembling slightly, and pushed it open a little wider, my heart thudding hard against my ribs.

But I froze when I heard her laugh that carefree, melodic laugh I hadn’t heard in months.

“I’m so happy and grateful for the gifts you sent, Mason. You’re the best,” she said, her voice soft, warm, filled with that tone she used to save for me.

Mason... the man who’d been my rival long before my downfall, the one who wanted everything I had... my career, my fame.

My fingers tightened against the doorframe until my knuckles whitened. I pushed the door open, the hinges creaking as if warning her. She gasped and spun around, her face draining of color. The phone slipped slightly in her grip before she ended the call in a hurry.

Her eyes widened in guilt, shock, and fear flickered through them. She tried to form a smile, a weak, trembling thing that couldn’t hide the truth written all over her face.

“Liam... you’re here,” she stammered, brushing her hair back as if fixing herself could fix the mess her words had already made.

I stared at her for a long moment, the flowers I’d sent her flashing through my mind, now nothing but a cruel joke. My voice came out low and cracked and filled with disbelief.

“Tell me, Isla…” I paused, the words choking me before I forced them out, “Are you cheating on me… with Mason?”

Her lips parted, eyes darting away... but before she could speak, her phone buzzed again, lighting up the screen with one name... Mason.